


Perfectly Normal, Thank You Very Much

by Bubblebirdie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblebirdie/pseuds/Bubblebirdie
Summary: Because being special got you killed. Lily Evans was special. And Petunia Evans no longer had a sister. She didn’t want to watch another person she loved die. So, she tried not to love him.
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley & Harry Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Perfectly Normal, Thank You Very Much

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. But here you go. I didn't even re-read this though so sorry about this mistakes.

Petunia Evans Dursley was not a bad person. She hated magic. Once upon at time, she had not. A curious 12-year-old had even written a letter. Because she thought she was special. She was not.

But sitting on the doorstep. A green-eyed baby in her lap. A letter in her hand. She knew being special only got you killed. She stared down at it- him. Harry Potter. A special name. No doubt he was magical. 

Lily Evans had green eyes. Soft tufts of red hair. She was Petunia’s baby sister. No doubt she was special. Just how special, 3-year-old Petunia didn’t know. Special enough to be killed.

Harry had a scar. Special enough to be killed. Normal enough, Petunia hoped, to survive.

Petunia loved her sister. She loved Harry too. Or she tried too, but he scared her. His hair that was just as unruly as Potter’s. And the accidents. That just happened. Lily had those too. She knew it was him though. Dudley didn’t have that light in his eyes. He naturally took after his father.

But Petunia read him stories, helped him with his arithmetic, and taught him to bake. To show Dudley that he didn’t have to.

Harry was better at baking and cooking. Of course, he was. Petunia remembered how Lily’s cakes always turned out just right. Her eggs nice and fluffy. How hers were always a little burnt. That by the time Lily was mastering eggs benedict while Petunia was working on a decent scramble. Maybe Lily cheated. Petunia was older after all. But their mum had always taught her that simple things were better anyway.

She taught Dudley. And Harry, she supposed, the same.

Vernon. Vernon made it difficult. And soon Dudley’s eyes were glued to his video game while Harry helped her crystalize violets in the kitchen. He was good at it. Maybe a bit too good at it.

Petunia nearly hated him for being so. It wasn’t his fault. But she should’ve been making memories with Dudley. Not him. Because he didn’t make mistakes enough. Perhaps it was because she snapped a little too harshly for getting flour on his nose. But he wasn’t endearing. He wasn’t normal.

Petunia didn’t want to watch another person she loved die. So, she tried not to love him.

His bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs. And maybe it was silly. But growing up, Petunia had had a cupboard. Lily a closet. So, she kept him there in hopes that he would be normal as well. In hindsight, it was cruel. To keep an 11-year-old in there. For her stupid hopes. The letter came anyways. He got Dudley’s second room.

He was thin and wiry. And Petunia saw a little bit of herself in him. She remembered her mum fussing over her. Trying to fatten her up. It only made her grow to hate herself. So, she let him be. He got enough to eat. Mostly. Vernon had his tantrums sometimes. But Petunia knew he snuck out to eat at night. Knew what he’d eaten as well. And let it be. It worked out. Though perhaps, he was just a child. And in hindsight, it might have helped to know someone knew. That someone maybe cared.

Mrs. Weasley came along. And Petunia knew of mothering Molly Prewett. So, she didn’t bother to change her ways. Old habits die hard.

His years at Hogwarts flew by. And every year, as summer neared, he would get him into some sort of scrape. Never talked about it of course. But Dumbledore wrote her letters. She hated the man. Wished she could send the boy to some sort of therapist. But there was no such thing in the magical world. And she very well wasn’t about it listen. Still. Even she could see it was wrong.

Like having teenage Lily Evans fight in a war. Her baby-sister. It led to her death. Every year, Petunia awaited the letter chronicling Harry’s.

He was 17 when they were all packed away. It was dangerous. Harry was a target. So were they.

That was the last she saw of the boy she had raised albeit not very well. She got the final letter from Minerva McGonagall. A woman she had heard little of but respected nonetheless. She pursed her lips at the words. But he was alive; she had done her job.

He was special enough to be killed. But normal enough to survive.

It was over. It was over and he was nearly the same age Lily had been.

He lived in a small apartment. Paid for by the ministry. There were leaks in the ceiling and holes in his clothes. And far too many empty fire whisky bottles laying around. But he left buckets out for the drips and patched his pants as best he could. On his bad days, when he barely had enough energy to get out of bed, he forced himself to his feet and made a decent scramble. Just like his aunt Petunia taught him. It wasn’t the flamboyant stuff of his youth. When he’d try to out-do Dudley. No, it was just surviving. Simple. But simple was good.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a Hermione fic at all, but happy birthday Hermione!


End file.
